


people have raised a whole lotta hell

by shinealightonme



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 13:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18469780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightonme/pseuds/shinealightonme
Summary: Ronan grows his hair out.





	people have raised a whole lotta hell

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anon on tumblr who wanted a fic where Ronan grows his hair out. That's it, that's the fic.

Towel. Mirror. Clippers. It doesn't take any thought to throw together. Ronan has done this enough times it's pure reflex: his hair gets long enough that he notices it? He shaves it off.

It's quiet in the house. The sort of morning where he can practically hear dust motes drifting through the light, the only moving things in the whole world.

The clippers are loud. He turns them off.

It doesn't matter. Once you break that stillness, it doesn't come back.

Ronan runs his hand over his scalp. His hair is just long enough that it itches when he does that.

He puts the clippers down.

"What do you think?" He doesn't bother to look through the door, just assumes that Opal is watching, because Opal is a creepy little fuck who is always watching.

"It's a start," she says. "None of you people have enough hair."

"We're not all lucky enough to be monsters. You're _welcome_ for that, by the way."

Opal scrambles up onto the toilet and from there up to the sink. She stands on wobbly hooves in between Ronan and his reflection, steadies herself with a hand on Ronan's shoulder. Her other hand comes up and pinches a strand of Ronan's hair.

"You'll get there," she assures him.

-

His hair has just gotten long enough to curl when Matthew comes to visit. On a Wednesday, but Matthew is one of those _college is an excuse to try weird hobbies and spend my brother's money_ students, and who is Ronan to stop his little brother from following his dreams?

Matthew's head is shaved. Ronan can't help noticing. He's had hair on his mind lately.

Matthew makes the same discovery in reverse.

"You stole my hair!"

"I didn't do shit to your hair. Take some personal responsibility."

"No, you're right," Matthew says. "It's more like I gave you my hair."

"That's too much responsibility. There's not a fucking causal relationship here."

"There _is,_ " Matthew insists. "It's conservation of mass. Or conservation of energy? Hair is mass. But growth is energy."

"What happened to your head?" Ronan asks, which is about the hair but also sounds like maybe he's asking _what happened to you_. He already knows the answer to that one. He's what happened to Matthew.

"You ever fall asleep around people?" Matthew asks.

"I can't fall asleep by myself half the time."

"You're lucky," Matthew sighs. "If you never fell asleep in class."

"It's not -- " Ronan listens when people talk, okay, whatever some people might say about it. Just, sometimes there's too much bullshit to go through all in one go. "Someone shaved your head _in class_?"

"I guess I was snoring. The professor was really annoyed."

"A _professor_ shaved your head?"

"I think it was more that he encouraged it. It's sort of a philosophical question who's responsible, you know?"

Someone shaved Matthew's head in the middle of a college lecture and he turned it into a thought exercise. How is _my older brother pulled me out of a dream_ no longer the weirdest thing that ever happened to him? Is this how parents feel, sort of proud and sort of lonely? Ronan didn't sign up for that.

"Get inside before anyone sees you," Ronan says, "I don't want the neighbors to think I hang out with goons."

Matthew laughs loud enough that if there were any neighbors, they'd hear it.

-

His hair is long enough that they would have forced him to cut it at Aglionby, long enough that it would touch his collar if he ever wore a collar, before Declan caves.

Ronan has enjoyed the sight of Declan starting to comment, thinking better, and then stopping himself. But he also enjoys seeing Declan lose that struggle. Really, any time Declan fights himself is a win-win for Ronan. It's really the _only_ time that Ronan gets to win where Declan is concerned.

And he's still trying to be _diplomatic_ about it. They are so goddamn confused about how to not fight with each other. Ronan has to laugh about that.

"I don't know how I feel about your hair" is what Declan settles on.

"Good. If you liked it I'd have to shave it off again."

Declan starts to say something and stops. Again.

"Ah, what is it, tell me about what a fucking mistake my hair is."

"It's just -- " Declan grimaces, like he feels obliged to smile and that's the closest he can get. "You look like my brother."

Ronan was ready, _so_ ready, for the mockery. He has no fucking idea what to do with that. The only consolation is that Declan doesn't, either.

-

His hair is long enough that it's starting to piss him off by getting in his eyes all the time. What do people even do with their hair besides shave it off or let it run wild?

Not that he can shave it off, because that would just make Gansey think he's right to make such a big fucking _deal_ out of it.

"But what does it mean?"

"It's hair," Ronan says. "It means there's shit growing out of my head."

"I'm with Ronan on this one," Blue says. Cheng throws a hand over his heart and falls off the couch in exaggerated surprise. "Why do we have to put so much significance in what a person's hair looks like?"

"But hair is extremely meaningful," Cheng says, "It is one of the best means available for personal expression. I myself am thinking of dying my hair pink."

"If that's supposed to be surprising, it isn't," Blue tells him, and that gets them off on an endless boring conversation about what color Cheng should dye his hair. Ronan doesn't object; at least they've moved on from _his_ hair.

Later in the evening when he's sitting on the ground Sargent comes and sits on the couch behind him. She ties a bandana around his head like she's noticed him pushing his hair out of his fucking face all day. Ronan shakes his head up, down, side to side. The bandana doesn't come off. Blue did a good job with it.

"What do I look like to you, Rosie the Riveter?"

"Less _we can do it_ and more _you can fuck yourself_ , but yeah, that's the general impression."

He swats at her. Blue dodges and then leans forward, rests her chin on the top of Ronan's head while they watch Gansey try to talk Cheng out of bleaching his hair in the kitchen sink.

-

Adam cocks his head when he gets his first real look at Ronan's hair. He'd seen it growing out in Skype calls, if that counts, which it doesn't because it's _Skype_ so it doesn't count for shit. He never mentioned it though, so Ronan hadn't either. That feels like a tactical error. It's going to be some big fucking _deal_ , now.

"Are you going to stop dressing like you escaped from a bad punk band?"

"No."

Adam nods, and then Opal pops up out of nowhere and gloms onto him. Based on previous experience it'll be two to five days of Adam being home before she'll let him alone. Ronan can relate.

And somehow that's -- it. No stupid questions. No accusations. No uncomfortable epiphanies or weird fucking feelings for Ronan to deal with. They're just Adam and Ronan, the same as always, except that sometimes Adam touches his hair and Ronan hyperventilates, and one morning Adam nuzzles the top of his head and then asks, "do you shampoo?" and "well, you should."

But other than that. The same as always. Except now Ronan smells like Adam's bulk rate store brand shampoo.

It's kind of fucking annoying, how much time and space Adam is giving him about this.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," Ronan says.

"It doesn't have to," Adam agrees, which isn't the same as saying _it doesn't mean anything._

They're lying in bed together, Adam playing with his hair in a lazy and absentminded kind of way. Ronan can hear himself screwing this up, but he doesn't know how to do it better. He's never been able to make words say what he wants them to say. That was the _point_ of shaving his head; it yelled out to the world that he was broken, dangerous, so that he didn't have to say it for himself.

"I don't care if people think I'm a fuck up."

"I know."

"I am a fuck up."

"Mmm," Adam says, not agreeing and not disagreeing.

"But." Ronan stumbles through the rest of it. "I don't _have_ to be a fuck up."

"I _know_ ," Adam says. "I'm glad that you know it, too."

Ronan shuts his eyes and just enjoys the feeling of Adam's fingers running through his hair.

"You don't hate how it looks, do you?"

"It looks good. It looked good before. You are a really unfairly attractive person," Adam says, matter of fact. "You'd have to do something pretty extreme to change that."

"Huh."

"That wasn't a dare."

"I bet I _could_ , though."

Adam sighs. "Just ask me before you do anything permanent, okay?"

Ronan doesn't even argue with that. Right now he doesn't feel like changing anything.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this fic you can [reblog it on tumblr](http://toast-the-unknowing.tumblr.com/post/184191201765/if-youre-taking-requests-something-youd-write)!


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